Harbingers of Justice
by The Lonesome Rose
Summary: The director of Outcome might be dead, but it's only the first step to bringing down a corrupt organization. **sequel to In Pursuit**
1. The Fugitives

**_'Do not go gentle into that good night/…Rage, rage against the dying of the light.'_**

**_-Dylan Thomas _**

According to his watch, Byer had died nearly five hours ago, but the final words of the director were still rolling over and over in his mind in sync with the movement of the underground subway as though they'd been said five seconds ago. _Sin eaters… both of you. I made both of you. _And the implied accusation that he's just like Byer. A carbon copy, forged through the pain and grit of Outcome.

He turns away from the window, rubbing his eyes. His body aches from the recent fight. The dead assassin, Byer's blood speckles his shirt and jeans, June walking away back to LARX. Sleep, I just need sleep and I can put this behind me. It's almost surreal when he look up across the aisle and meets eyes with Bourne who's slumped against the window with yesterday's copy of the Times. Funny, all that time searching for the fugitive, taking down Byer and now on the run with Treadstone's Most Wanted. He'd given the director the killing shot, did his hands feel any cleaner? The other agent turns away, turning the page—the movement just enough to give Aaron a peek at the slightly darkened patch at his side. Blood must've started soaking through the bandage Marta had set. They had to stop.

"Find one yet?" he murmurs to Marta. "We've got to stop for the night."

She shook her head. "It's either ridiculously priced or a roach-infested hostel. There's no middle ground in this city."

"How about that one? Park Central. It's only a couple stops up if we switch lines."

"Over three hundred a night…"

"We can manage with one bed. We wouldn't all be sleeping anyway." His attention drifts back out the window.

Beside him, Marta sets down the phone and stifles a yawn. Her hand goes back to holding his on the seat between them. "We'll switch to the orange line at 34th St."

Aaron only nods in response. If Byer's dead, who does that leave to pick up the program? Far as he can't recall he can't remember any other names besides Mandy. It's not over until they're all dead…or we are. _Or you join us. Sin eaters. A hundred crimes and blood of innocents are on your hands, Outcome Five. No matter what you do, your past will still drip red on your future. _

No more.

_As long as you have the enhancements, you'll be a part of Outcome. Part of us. Part of me._

I'm not you. I'm not _anything_ like you. Lying, murdering bastard. He clenches his free hand enough to make it go nearly numb. The voices should've ended when Byer died… instead, they're getting louder.

"Aaron" a tug on his hand and he looks to see Marta standing when the subway pulls to a stop. "We transfer here."

Bourne folds the paper closed and gets up too, but not fast enough to hide a twitch of pain that flashes across his face. "Subway" he mutters, disapprovingly. "And people enjoy doing this daily?"

"Orange line" Marta leads the way, pulling Aaron with her.

They won't have picked up the trail this fast. Still, Aaron scans over the handful of other commuters they pass looking for the tell-tale signs of another agent. There could be hundreds of those upper-grade assassins. And if June's part, who knows how many of them are former Outcome agents.

* * *

"The first shot was fired close, but it wasn't direct enough to be the killing bullet. Those samples of blood we pulled here were two different types. There was another shot, probably in the chest and a third close to the throat. He would've died soon after." Noah Vosen, now acting director of LARX, demonstrated the murder to the two NYPD officers.

"You're sure it wasn't a suicide."

"There were at least two other people in the room."

The second officer waves a hand. "Just covering the bases. Did Eric Byer have any enemies?"

"Enemies… enemies…" Vosen muses on the question. "He was the director of a secret government organization with hundreds of agents under his command. How many enemies do _you_ suppose he might've had?"

The officers glance at each other. "If you can come up with a list of names for us to go through…"

"Of course, of course, Eric deserves that much." Vosen sees the officers out then leans against the edge of Byer's desk, staring thoughtfully at the crime scene. "You reached for the prize too fast, Eric. Patience was never your strongest suit." The detailed reports were due to come back from the lab in a matter of hours then it would be a question of matching blood types and fingerprints to possible suspects. If only the security footage had been left intact; the fact that it wasn't made him suspect he was dealing with an experienced agent. Or at least someone who was actually using his head.

Mandy had been working closely with him. Where had her body gone?

Vosen frowned, thinking back to the moments he'd witnessed of Mandy trying to seize controls of projects. She would have had the opportunity and time to get close enough to Eric to shoot a gun.

"I'll find them, Eric. I'll find them and make them pay."

* * *

It's not until 3 am that they reached the Park Central Hotel. Marta could've counted the seconds spent walking since it had taken the concentration just to stay awake. Every bruise the female assassin had left on her she could feel throbbing. Even Aaron had lost his energy reserves. His face was drawn and troubled whenever she'd met his eyes. It couldn't still be about having to pull that shot on her to get to Byer—he'd known that was necessary. Her hand went involuntarily to her side, tracing the bandage underneath her shirt.

"Is there any room available? We got out of a show and found our car stolen." Aaron keeps it short, reaching for his wallet to shift through the bills in it and pull out his ID. "One night for now."

The clerk looks at them all a bit suspiciously—there can't be too many other customers this early in the morning, but it is New York so it can't be uncommon. "We've only got a single left." She's gauging their relations to each other.

"It'll do."

Jason waves it away like it's nothing. "Floor works for me."

Watching Aaron sort out a number of twenties and fifties, the clerk enters the reservation info into the computer, prints out the contract for him to sign and hands him the key. "Third floor, room 330, Mr. James. I hope your situation works out."

"Yeah we'll contact the police in the morning. Thanks."

For nearly three hundred a night, she didn't think it was much to look at. One king-sized with a flat-screen across from it, a desk on one wall and two sidetables. "_Three_ hundred"

"Two-eighty eight" corrected Aaron.

"Rip-off" said Jason. He held up his hands visually measuring the floor space, then poked his head in the bathroom. "I think the _shower _is bigger than the main floor space."

"Hey, you want to sleep in there, be my guest."

"I'm going to have to put one of those 'do not disturb' signs on the door so you don't try to steal my turf."

Shaking her head at their arguing, Marta pulled off her shoes and jacket to slip beneath the covers with a luxurious sigh.

* * *

"She got a decent shot on you," said Aaron, carefully pulling the soaked bandages from Bourne's side. "Must've nicked an artery."

"We're getting her back. That better be part of the plan."

"Working on it…"

"You didn't think that far ahead, did you?" There's an accusation in Bourne's voice that he remembers from one of the Outcome trainers. _Put some brain in it, Five. You think you can pull through a mission on a half thought-out plan? _"They turned Nicky into one of those assassins for helping me."

"I'm working on it. Cut some slack, Treadstone."

Bourne stares him on. "Prove you can handle it, Outcome. If we're pulling together in this, I call the shots too. Just because you're advanced doesn't make you the better soldier."

Aaron keeps silent as he preps the clean bandages, concentrating on ignoring the ghosting scorns of his trainers.

"I read your file. I saw where you came from before the program."

"Want to make something of it?" he mutters. While he gets the new bandage on, the seconds drag by and he can feel Bourne's eyes boring into him. I don't need the judgment from you. Not all of us were legacy material; some of us are just the next stage of soldiers. "It's on the priority list."

"Good." Bourne gives him a nod of thanks. "Wake me if you need a shift covered."

Three twenty one a.m. doesn't make sense to start shifts. Aaron figures he's the one with the enhancements so he can keep an eye out for trouble. What's one more night anyway. But right after the thought crosses his mind, he snaps back into rational mode. How are you planning to work out a plan if you're half dead, Aaron? Go to sleep and you might face the nightmares but at least you'll have a clear head in the morning. He wanders to the window—there's occasional signs of life out, but mostly the city has shut down for the night.

_You're running ahead without an objective. What do you think would happen when you killed me? You take out your purpose. With authorities after you and the rest of Treadstone on your tail, you're not going to live a quiet life, Cross. You're going to be hunted down and shot like an animal. _

You had it coming, Byer. I didn't pull the shot.

_You think we can't manufacture a cognitive degrade? You'll be screaming for the end to come. _

"Aaron?"

Marta worrying tone snaps him back to reality and he glances over at her. "Nightmares?" He comes closer to take a seat on the edge of the bed.

"I'm worried about you. You've been acting strange since…" she trails off. It doesn't need to be said aloud. She reaches out to take his hand. "You can tell me."

"It's…" Aaron releases the breath he's holding. "…it's nothing. You should get some sleep while you can. No telling what will happen tomorrow."

"The life of fugitives"

He smirks. "A lifestyle fast and furious with nothing slowing us down."

"Sleep deprivation might. I know your biology, Aaron. You might be engineered to go longer than the average person, but that enhanced brain of yours is going to start shutting itself down."

He makes to argue, but shuts his mouth. Damn, he can't argue that logic when he can barely shut out Byer. Raising his hands in surrender earns him a smug grin from her, "Fine, you win." He goes around to the other side to pull back the sheets. "We're probably safe for tonight." Settling against the pillows, he focuses on the comforting weight of Marta against his side; uses it as his anchor against the voices in his mind. It's like the night she had the nightmare— only this time he's the one who needs to have her close.


	2. Conditioned

l

**'Ah! changed and cold, how changed and very cold!/ With stiffened smiling lips and cold calm eyes'**

**-Christina Rossetti, "Dead before Death"**

She'd remembered the gun—now stolen—in her hands, targeting a shot impossible to miss. One word: objective. Fulfill the objective and prove your purpose, show the program it needs you.

Cain.

Nicky remembers the Before. She grasps at it from a distance as bit by bit her chromosomes realign with the chems she's given. Green. Purple. These are issued with the order to go to Mandy as soon as she's low. Two dosages per day. Nicky pulls out the gold case that hangs around her next and taps it against her palm for two of the pills to come out… stop taking them, stop being manipulated. Get close to find the real enemies. Bourne, remember Bourne. Not Cain, Bourne.

In one dream she's pointing the gun at Cain and she fires it to leave him drowning in a pool of his own blood. Mandy is there, congratulating her for completing the objective. Bourne is taken away to become a part of the same program.

In the other dream she's handing him the files that spell the death of LARX.

Nicky lowers her hand, the tiny round capsules clenched in her palm.

* * *

With the files and her assassin, Mandy had retreated back to her apartment until she could decide what to do next.

LARX 2 had gone offline. No contact in fifteen hours might be called collateral damage if this hadn't been the side effect everyone had warned Mandy about. Put an assassin in a situation that required her to adopt emotion and expect her to adapt to her surroundings—fatal. Is she becoming as idiotic as Byer? LARX was engineered to be superior so why couldn't there have been a way to make the agents less susceptible to emotions. It's the same problem with the Outcome agents. Too emotional. Outcome Five and the later LARX 2 had practically concealed a whole relationship through their training, she'd learned from some digging into their pre-program files. It makes her hate the uncontrollable agents all the more. She hates Byer for his stupidity and Shearing for her prying. Most of all she hates Jason Bourne, the origin of all this.

I'll kill you with my own hand if I get close enough.

But then she has Parsons. As Mandy sees it, it's a vengeance against Parsons' moral high ground and resistance. Who knows… Bourne could be turned too. She imagines that moment when she can hold Bourne down, spit in his face and inject him with the LARX programming serum.

Justice.

It leaves the next move to be made. She needs resources and agents if she's going to find Bourne, meaning she'll need to find the successor to the program. Or, in the case of LARX, the rightful director. Byer's pet project had been Outcome, with some dabbling in LARX with permission from administration.

It should be a simple name search. Mandy sorted through the files she'd taken, looking for a director name… two assassins deceased, one offline, she sets those files aside… LARX 6 is the file she stops at, a note in the file lists her as deputy director of LARX. She stopped at the photo. The assassins aren't programmed to have emotions but there is something commanding in Six's expression. And recognizable. Mandy reads the file and finds out why Six looks so familiar. Six, or Siobhan Kane as she's preferred to be known, is Noah Vosen's daughter.

If it were that simple, Mandy wouldn't hesitate to return, but she's been interfering in Vosen's projects. Byer might've been the exception—he'd have had permission, but she hadn't been so fortunate. She can only imagine what Vosen will say when he finds that Parsons, a former employee, has been forcibly brought into the program.

Will he understand that it was required under the present circumstances?

A creak from the floorboards and she looked up to see Parsons there, a vacant expression in her face and her fist clutching something.

"You missed the objective, but you'll have a second chance. Have you taken your chems?"

Parsons looks down at her fist, a spark of defiance in her eyes. She's already fighting the programming…it should've been a larger dosage while she'd had the woman tied down. That scientist had made a mistake.

"Greens for physical, purple for intelligence… they'll help you survive." Mandy meets Parsons eyes and interjects more command into her tone. "You need to take them. Remember your objective."

"Cain. Take out Cain."

"You need the chems to complete the objective."

She dips her head in obedience and downs the two pills. Once they are down and begin absorbing into her body, the spark of opposition dies in her eyes and Mandy can release a small sigh.

Greens are physical but the purples break down resistance.

"How will we get Cain?"

"We'll have help." Mandy picked up her phone and dialed the listed number for LARX 6. It can't hurt to get to Vosen through his daughter—he might be powerful, but he could still be manipulated with the right leverage. Tracking down Bourne is all that matters.


	3. Morning After

**Currently in the middle of summer classes, but I'm working to keep up with writing.** **I'm curious if the poem quotes work for the chapter openings- I'd keep using Bourne series quotes, but I used up all the best ones. Well, it's still the early chapters, there's still room for development. **

**Review and follow! **

* * *

**_"Give me thy hand, and hush awhile/ And turn those limpid eyes on mine/ And let me read there…thy inmost soul." –Matthew Arnold, "The Buried Life"_**

Marta awoke to silence—no discussion from Aaron and Jason about the next step, no plan. No one but her left. She turned, catching sight of a note tucked partially under Aaron's pillow. With it was a gun and extra ammunition.

_Went to get a few things. Stay put. Stay safe. Call if there's trouble. _

She pushed the covers back, and went to the bathroom to splash water on her face and found the second note taped to the mirror.

_Gone out for a run. Breakfast in the fridge. Don't leave the room. –Jason_

It was admirable really; between the two of them, they had her covered. She knew it wasn't a contest—Jason had to have figured out by now she and Aaron were something he couldn't come between, but it was touching to see him taking care of her like an older brother.

In the fridge was a plate of scrambled eggs, sausages, a peach muffin and a waffle covered with whipped cream and strawberry syrup from the buffet downstairs. She smiled, taking the plate to sit on the edge of the bed and enjoy it while she flipped through the news stations for any mention of Byer's body found. Murder, kidnappings, burglaries but no mention of the Outcome director, Jason or anything else relevant to their situation. They're biding their time; they'll wait till we've let down our guard and then strike. A body is just what they needed to accelerate the searching for Bourne and make the search for Aaron go public. How long until someone here decides to say something?

If it's only a matter of time, it wouldn't hurt to take advantage of the situation while she's alone. Setting the remains of the food back in the fridge and taking up the gun, Marta locked herself in the bathroom to start the shower. The gun sits on the sink, her clothes stripped and left in a pile on the floor… for a few minutes, she just stands beneath the stream, the hot water numbing her injuries from last night.

I didn't ask for this. I didn't want to kill anyone. It was self-defense… but the memories only gain in strength when she tries suppressing them… the assassin slammed into the pillar then to the floor, any chemical enhancements now useless against such force; blood streaming down the other assassin's face, her bullet embedding in his skull…for a fleeting second, she wishes Aaron were here with her. How did he deal with the guilt, with the knowledge that he was forced into life or death situations and had to choose being an agent of death in order to survive.

She isn't sure what makes her remember or why she hadn't made the connection sooner, but she'd met Aaron Cross at his most vulnerable before… pre-program Kenneth Kitsom.

All she'd heard was convoy accident, lone survivor and being considered for the program before she'd walked into that room where Kenneth Kitsom was staring around wildly … when she'd closed the door, he'd flinched. She'd winced in sympathy as she looked over the debris shards down one side of his face and made sure to keep her movements slow to spare from scaring him any more.

"Kenneth, I'm Dr. Shearing. We're going to get you into surgery in a little while, okay?"

"Did- did I pass?" His eyes meet hers, wide and anxious. "The test…they didn't say… I don't know if I…"

She didn't like seeing him getting worked up over this. There'd already be some level of shock to deal with. "We're going to get you in surgery and fix you up first then you'll be admitted to the program. Just relax, Kenneth. You're okay, you're safe."

He closed his eyes, shaking his head slightly. "They're all dead."

"I'm so sorry about the rest of the convoy," she said, laying her hand on his knee. "I…" She wanted to comfort him but what could she say that wouldn't increase his survivor's guilt? It wouldn't help to ask about the specifics… "You're here. You're safe. Focus on that." She looked to his file, only to find it was all but blank. Didn't they care? In the bottom, as though it had been an afterthought someone had written _administered IV for dehydration and fluid replacement, trauma to side of head, possible internal fractures and bleeding. _Possible?! She'd been ready to hit someone… this soldier was going through shock, obvious internal injuries and no one seemed to care unless he was approved for the program. She forced down the rush of anger. The soldier needed her now if he was going to get any care. She pulled down a pressure cuff to secure around his upper right arm. "I just need to check a few things before we put you under, okay? Tell me if anything hurts. Tell me right away, Kenneth. Okay?"

He looked up at her, then dropped his head back down to look at the floor which might've been a nod.

She gradually inflated the cuff, closely watching the growing discomfort on his face. "A little more…you're doing well, Kenneth. Just a little… there, just right there for a minute." She paused, noted the measurement then nodded to him encouragingly and took it off to set it aside. "How long were you on the field?"

"Couple… couple months."

She tried to keep up light conversation during the rest of the examination to keep him focused, but he declined to respond for most of it. Relief or suppressing pain, she couldn't tell.

"Does anything hurt? I need to know, okay? There aren't any cameras, it's just you and me, but I need to know if something hurts so we fix it during surgery."

"Is this… not a test?"

"No, no it isn't. I want to make sure I don't miss anything." She ran her eyes over him again, the anger threatening to rush up again… she had to keep calm…he needed her to stay focused. "I'm going to check over for injuries okay?" Trying to be gentle, she undid the top half of his medical gown. There it had been… a dark bruising just below the right side of his ribs. Smaller patches were above it. Left untreated it would spread and kill him. When she touched the larger bruise, he tried to suppress a whimper.

"We're going to take care of this. Okay?"

This time he managed a nod.

"I'm going to help you lay back now. Slowly."

He nodded again, meeting her eyes and began to lay back as she guided him with her hands, until a cry escaped him and tears glazed his eyes.

"I'm sorry, Kenneth, I'm sorry," she murmured as he tried to stifle his screams of pain while she got him down all the way. He hand caught onto hers and squeezed hard, tears rolled down his face now. "Doctor… Shearing… hurts, it hurts."

She kept a tight hold on his hand, her free hand exploring the area. Darker bruising around his abdomen and hips… at least four broken ribs, one of which was piercing his stomach and possibly another his spleen, pelvis fractured.

"You're going to be okay. We caught this in time. Focus on me, Kenny… _focus on me_." She cradled his face in her hand. "I'm going to put you to sleep now, okay? When you wake up, you'll be in a recovery ward and it won't hurt anymore."

Desperation filled his eyes. He held her hand tighter, gaze locked unflinchingly on hers, seeking something in her face. Trust? Comfort? Understanding? Those pale blue eyes drew her in, looked right into her. Marta wanted to break contact, but something compelled her to let him read her, to look back and try to search his expression. "Stay."

"I'll stay until you're asleep. Can you let me go for a second? Just a second so I can get the anesthesia." She tugged her hand for emphasis.

He let out a pained sigh, dropping his hand to the gurney and watched her pull away and prepare the instruments quickly.

She had the dosage measured and moved to slip the breathing mask on his face, taking his hand again. Marta watched as his breathing evened out when the drugs began to take effect, how his eyes began to dim but still wouldn't leave hers.

She'd waited until he was completely under before taking her hand from his. As soon as she'd left the room, an attendant entered it to roll Kenneth into surgery. Marta only took a second to watch him go before she went to give the program director a piece of her mind concerning the lack of humane treatment. "He was bleeding out and you had to approve him to the program _before_ you treated him? He was in shock and in pain and you couldn't wait twelve hours to third-degree him. You couldn't bother to see if he was hurt. All that mattered was the program… if he hadn't been accepted, what then? Were you just going to leave him like that? Let him slowly die because he wasn't fit for your program?"

"Dr. Shearing, we were following…"

"Take your precious policy and shove it up your own ass…. he was _dying._ He was dying and you couldn't be bothered to show a scrap of human decency!"

It had been the first and last time she'd ever seen Kenneth Kitsom.

Does he even remember… or is it just me? Marta began working the shampoo and conditioner through her hair. Is that why he'd always been so familiar with me in the exams? But then, what good was thinking about that when their survival rested on a plan they didn't have? In a matter of time, the LARX agents would be scouring the city and people would start talking. It was a miracle the desk clerk hadn't called out Jason last night.

She heard the door keyed open and on instinct reached for the gun.

"Marta?"

At Aaron's voice, she relaxed and lowered the gun. "Where were you?"

"Out. Look, can I come in for a second?"

She paused, studying the outline of his shoes beneath the edge of the door, trying to determine his intent. "Just a second?"

"More like a half second."

"Give me a minute." She shut off the water and reached for a towel, wrapping it around herself and checked to be sure it was secure enough before she came forward to open the door.

He stepped inside, eyes on her admiringly while he stole a few seconds to subtly look her over. "These are for you. I thought you could use a change of clothes."

Marta started, stunned for a minute at the bundle he held out in offering. "I hope you didn't go out just for…" she reached forward to take the change of clothes. "Thanks, Aaron."

He nodded in response, taking another step nearer to reach out and wrap a soggy ringlet of her hair around his finger, his hand brushing her throat and rested there a few seconds while Marta stared up at him, her heart fluttering madly. Aaron's eyes met hers and now, those eyes she'd swore were blue were the grey of a storm's prelude—undaunted and untamable. His lips quirked upwards in a smile before he turned, closing the door after him.

Marta could only stand there, dripping water on the floor and holding the clothes speechlessly as she stared after him.

Jeans, a midnight blue tank top with a swooped neckline, a dark grey faux leather jacket, along with a digital watch, practical lingerie and socks. The bigger surprise was when she discovered it all fit. He can't have possibly looked at labels to know the right sizes. What was he thinking? Shopping for me… does he think he's my… Marta can't bring herself to even think the word. There isn't a single-word description for Aaron or any attribute that describes _them_.

"Saved life, burnt down house, completely ruined any prospects for a normal life," she muttered to herself under the drone of the blow-dryer. "Enhanced with a government agency hunting him down, trained assassins, _killed _assassins…it's like something out of a James Bond movie but this time there's only one love interest." And Aaron could probably beat up James Bond. Now that would be something; she laughed at the thought.

* * *

The longer Aaron stared at the CIA interface, the more convinced he became that the information he was looking for was staring him right in the face. If what he'd heard was correct, Treadstone had been forced as the basement project for the CIA's darker methods for securing intel, meaning that Outcome and then LARX would be connected as well. But they just couldn't make it that simple, could they? A whole bunch of CIA black market operatives forcing participants into the program, wiping their memories and covering up their tracks behind the government. It hadn't started with Byer—he wasn't CIA material, he came after the first wave.

"If you wanted to join Treadstone, all you had to do was ask."

"Not looking for Treadstone," muttered Aaron, navigating to a new portal on the website while ignoring Jason staring over his shoulder. "I'm looking for the names of the ex-CIA agents who are running the programs. But if you remember anything, sharing would be good about now."

"My name is Daniel Webb and I hate saltwater."

Aaron paused, his hands still poised over the keys to glance over his shoulder at the other agent. "_Saltwater_?"

"I got pulled out half alive floating in the stuff," said Jason flatly. "It smells like death." He pulled the cap from a bottled water and began gulping it down.

"Wolves." He turned back to the computer.

"One wolf won't hurt you"

"It was a whole pack of them, chasing after me for three days. Those vermin are too damn smart." He stared at the screen, calculating his options. "Then there was one and even that was more than enough."

"I won't throw you to the wolves if you don't throw me in the ocean."

"Fair enough" he heard the whine of the hairdryer stop and waited for Marta to come back out. There had to be some lead to go off from on this.

Behind him, Jason let out a sharp breath. "I know an ex-CIA. She's helped me in the past and she'll know who's running the program."

"Pamela Landy?"

"You know her?"

"I tracked her down to find you, but she might not help after last night." Aaron, shoved the laptop screen down with a snap. "When she came to me, she said we had to do this legally. She warned me not to stab Byer in the back, which is exactly what we did."

"In your defense, I was the one who shot him."

"I planned it." When Landy finds out it was all to save Marta, she won't help us. She finds out about Nicky and it's all over. She knows about Byer by now. "If she asks, I would do it all over again." He hardens his voice. "I would've taken the shot, warning or no warning from her."

"I'll handle her." He flashed Aaron a glance that warned all too plainly that he'd better be working on that plan to bring Nicky back if he expected the ex-Treadstone agent to stick around before he moved away, waiting his own turn for the shower.

When we have the names of the people running the program, we'll have a target to aim a gun at. Nicky will be close by if they've abducted her into LARX. We need to know how many assassins they have. When the participants are taken out, the leaders shot down then we'll have the chance for a normal life.

_When you took the first step into Outcome, you sold any right you had to a normal life. You're in the program. As long as you're Aaron Cross, you acknowledge your debt to Outcome, the debt you made to me on joining. _

_As long as you're Aaron Cross._

What if I'm not Aaron Cross anymore? Is that when I'm done with the program—is it, Byer? I was someone before Outcome. If Treadstone is exposed nationally, I can become that man again.

He looked up, hearing the door unlock and watched Marta come to set her clothes on the bed in a neat pile before she happened to notice him.

She did one full turn in front of him, showing off the clothes to make him smile. "How'd you know the sizes?"

"I guessed. Visually guessed. And looks like I was right." The clothes hadn't been the only thing he'd been set on buying for her. The final thing was buried in the lining of his jacket where it was sure to be safe until the time was right. With the level of danger they were living, the right time couldn't be drawn out even if they had only known each other a few weeks. Four years, he corrected himself, almost five. That's long enough, isn't it?

"Thank you, Aaron," she said, leaving out any mention of how it was a waste of their valuable resources. Forty thousand had seemed a fortune at the time, but when they invested in place tickets, rental cars and hotels, it wouldn't last half a year. She started to kiss his cheek, until he turned to catch her lips on his and indulge in a brief instant without thinking about their situation or the people hunting them down. He nudged her closer, prolonging their few seconds. But then, far before he wants it to end, their instant is over and he needs to think rationally again.

"Do we know where we're going next?"

"We need to stay long enough for Jason to establish a contact and to track down where Nicky is. After that…" he confesses the lack of plan he has, but Marta can't know she's the distraction from that plan. With any distraction being potentially fatal to their survival he knows he needs to say something. As soon as we have the names, then I'll have the chance to tell her.

It's only a matter of hours. You've waited three years, Cross, you can stand to wait a little longer.


	4. In Time, In Place

**Interlude time. Dun dun duuuun... Summer semester finally over, whew! I'll see about updating more frequently before classes start up again in August. **

**Thanks to DalamarF16 for the encouraging review. And thank you to all who are following this story. I will say that all you guys encourage me to stick to this story!**

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**_"There's only one slight difference between/ Me and my epic brethren gone before./ And here the advantage is my own."–Lord Byron, "Don Juan"_**

It hadn't been an ordinary drug overdose. Vosen reads through the chemical listing—no it's not familiar, but he can tell it isn't a simple mixture either. Eric wouldn't be the type to take drugs, it had been enough watching all the program participants downing the pills. It was curious that both the DNA samples taken off Eric were both woman, meaning that one or both could have poisoned him. And who had they been working for? More questions arise from the answers as Vosen tries to piece together Eric's final hours. By the state of the assassins left behind, someone experienced was behind this—his suspicion instantly goes to rival organizations, CIA intruders or defective participants… Bourne. Whenever something like this arises, he instantly thinks of Bourne. Jason Bourne started the rebellion.

Dita had been in the sidelines since the program began, always one step after Eric, would she have killed him to take his place after they'd pursued an affair together? He had never presumed anything about his assistant's personal life. It hadn't been his way after all; employees knew better than to come to work with their private lives and morals in tow… it had been Eric after all who'd coined the term "sin eaters", not that Vosen had always agreed with it. He sat back in his chair, setting down the report to take off his glasses and wipe a speck of dust away.

Back in the early stages of the program, he'd been here. Right here.

It had been one thing to hand blue chems to outcomes one through four, who'd already had average intelligence levels; those findings hadn't been the ones Vosen had been waiting for. At the start of the program, he'd imagined the intelligence-increasing pills for another set of participants. Outcome Five was the first real test subject.

"Two weeks on the chems and we're already seeing a one point nine percent increase in his response and brain functioning. Long term, the results would be…"

"Above average intelligence," Vosen looked up from the report to Eric, noticing his furrowed brow. "This was how I'd planned the program—to take those small sampling of unremarkable people and give them a new chance. You don't agree?"

"You know the mess we had with Bourne."

"That was memory wiping, not intelligence."

"Exactly my point. We take this "small sampling of unremarkable people" as you call them, boost their IQ and then we deal with those agents turning against us?"

"Don't forget who's running this program, Eric," he said warningly. Skepticism from the deputy director of Outcome wasn't enough to dissuade him from continuing the program he'd been mapping out for twenty years when he finally had the perfect test subject. "If this works, we'll have the CIA begging for our agents."

Eric didn't bother trying to hide his scoff of distain. "This could all go south on us. And why this one?" He jabbed a finger at the open file. "What's so special about him?"

"I have my reasons. When I saw this soldier, I saw untapped potential." He glances at the picture again—the rounded, boyish face, storm-grey eyes full of doubt and tension. After intensive training, he'd be faster, stronger and smarter than anyone else would think possible. It's true he could've taken any of a dozen people, but he'd had Kenneth Kitsom in mind from the beginning.

All the advancements had started from that one participant. When intelligence could be increased and success proven, then other behaviors could be altered, like obedience and program commitment the LARX agents were known for.

If he'd known, would he still have left? If he'd had understood the impact he'd made, would he try to destroy the organization all the harder? But it couldn't be stopped now. With the data Vosen had taken from the past programs—the strengths and weaknesses of each—the superior line of agents were yet to be made. There was only this mess of Eric's death to clear up first and after some searching in the organization files, he found the name he wanted.

"If you thought you could murder the director of Outcome and get away with it, what will you do when the entire city is looking for you. Clearly we were wrong to trust you." One more fugitive for the public to find for him, one more accomplice of Bourne's to be destroyed.

"The question now is where to pick up where you left off, Eric," murmured Vosen, scanning through some recent program files where Bourne is mentioned. He might've humiliated the CIA, but he wasn't the main target now. "I only ever had this organization in mind, while it seems you were the one to stray from our final objective." He pulls up a new file and studies the new participant profile photo. The agent's eyes are no longer full of doubt and conflict, but rather hard with purpose…and defiance.

"As I understand it, you consider yourself the director of the program with Eric Byer dead." Siobhan Kane didn't waste a single word when she entered the apartment. She paced a single perimeter around the main room, taking in Parsons, the files from Outcome that were spread across the table and stopping in front of Mandy. "If you thought I was walking into this blind."

"There are two dangerous fugitive agents out there. I was in direct contact with Byer up until his death and I can assure you I know the situation better than you do." She met Kane's stare, knowing that the agent was likely filing every bit of information away to tell her father later. "His priority was these agents. How do you think he died—or didn't you know that already?"

Kane folded her arms. "I was monitoring the situation including your lack to get anything done. My last count was five agents down, was that right?"

She'd had the suspicion this wouldn't play out well, but it was her final chance. "If you've been watching the situation, you know the risks and what these agents are capable of."

"It's a shame Byer had to die for you both to finally figure that out." Kane adds in a lowered voice, "he was a family friend."

"I tried to warn him," Mandy muttered. "He was obsessed."

And how much was she falling into his own mistakes when she saw an opportunity and seized it without fully understanding what she was involving herself with. Like Treadstone taking a soldier, wiping his memories and enlisting him in a program against his will. This agent might be LARX, a more reliable programming, but she's still a program participant.

"The last female operative compromised herself through forbidden emotions" she can't resist just a small reminder where Kane's place is in the scheme of things. "How do I know you won't fall in the same traps she did?"

Kane takes a seat at the table, shifting through the files. She pulls one to the front, opening it to skim as she tugs back her blonde hair carelessly to keep it out of her face while she's focused on the information in front of her. "I hope you aren't suggesting that all female operatives will be in danger of similar compromise. After all, the more you try to discourage something in program participants—especially in Outcome agents who already are crippled by their emotions—the more likely the situation you try to avoid will happen." This time she faces Mandy. "LARX 2 used to be an Outcome agent. I've been LARX all my life."

Mandy cast a quick glance at Parsons who was watching Kane closely. Her silence only reminding Mandy that Parsons conversion to LARX was still unstable and near to being broken if one more thing went wrong. "The longer this situation progresses with the fugitive agents, the closer it's getting to it destroying everything we've worked for the past thirty years."

"Is that a resignation from your self-promotion as director?"

Mandy barely resisted the urge to shoot back a very unprofessional comment, but she forced herself to remain impassive.

"Here's my offer." She closed the file she was reading. "I can smooth things over for you with the director, but you'll stop playing by your own rules and follow those of the _official_ director. Agreed?"

Her only response was a brief, stiff nod. The resentment she forced down to simmer hungrily in the pit of her stomach.

Kane smiled— if the slightest curve of one side of her lips could be considered a smile. "I'll let him know."


End file.
